Safe and Sound
by Nordicho
Summary: WWII Fem USUK AU. Amelia is an optimistic, strong 10 year old girl in a town in America. Alice is a pessimistic 10 year old girl in a rainy town in Britain. As they grow up they begin to understand the threat of war that hangs in the air, and what it could mean for them. After an unfortunate turn of events they meet on the front line, working as nurses.
1. Chapter 1: A Young American Girl

**A/N: This is my first multi-chapter fic! I can hopefully update at some point in the next two weeks. I don't want to promise anything, as I'm busy with schoolwork / I'm going to Spain in little over a week. I really hope this goes well! I've never planned to write anything this long before. If you have any comments/constructive advice don't hesitate to tell me! Feedback is appreciated. This story is based on my WWII Fem USUK AU, but it's not identical. So some details are not the same as my oneshot. Very loosely historically accurate (sorry!) The story starts in 1935. Thank you!**

**Oh! And if there was any confusion:**

**Amelia = Fem America **

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**Chapter one: A young American girl.**

Amelia was ten years old and adventurous. She climbed trees and collected rocks and skipped classes. Her smile was wonderful and her hair was messy. At her young age, the world seemed easy to fit into. You needed to get a job, obviously. You needed to get married to a handsome man. You needed to retire happy. And that was it. She was at the top of a tree in her backyard and the sun was fading. The ground was dusty and dry. She lowered herself down from the tree, clambering down the branches with natural ease. The sunset was pretty. Red and orange. Amelia thudded onto the ground. A cloud of dust formed around her. She turned towards the old house and made her way back home. She ran with all the enthusiasm a ten year old girl could muster. She arrived home with a smile on her face and scuffs on her knees. Yep, she thought. Life was going to be easy. All you had to do was stay happy, no matter what. If there was one thing Amelia Jones was good at, it was staying happy.

"What's for dinner, mom?" She ran into the kitchen while asking the question. Her mother sighed and pushed some stray hairs behind her ear.

"Roast leg of lamb, Amelia." Her mother replied. "And would you _please_ try not to get my kitchen all dirty?" Amelia looked at her scuffed knees and smiled to herself. Her mom was always so strict about dirty knees and feet in the kitchen.

"I'll have a bath after food" Her accent was thick and American. "And it sounds delicious." She just had to wait now. For some reason her mom had stopped cooking meat recently, but it looked like this was a special occasion. Amelia loved lamb. She loved beef and pork, too. Her dad always said she had a big appetite. Amelia was immensely proud of that. Her dad was handsome, she thought. Her mom had checked 'marry a handsome man' off the list. It worried Amelia that she'd never get a husband of her own. Her mother always told her that she wasn't lady-like. Because of how much she ate and how much mud she came home with on her knees. Because she had a dead bug collection in her room. That she'd never get a boyfriend, because boys only liked quiet, feminine girls. She supposed that she had no chance of getting a husband if she was never even going to get a boyfriend. Amelia looked at her dirty hands and bare feet. Who cared? If she was a boy she'd probably like a girl with a sense of adventure. Someone like herself. She smiled and kicked the floor. She walked over to the wooden staircase in the center of the hallway and sat on the third step. She waited.

Amelia's house was big and white. It had wooden paneling on the outer walls and a large porch. The roof was brown and there were flowers in the front yard. Amelia loved her house. It had lots of rooms and wooden floors. She loved the empty feeling of being a three person family in a large house. It wasn't lonely. It felt refreshing. There was grass all around the house. Although due to the late summer climate and Amelia's lust for adventure; there wasn't much of a lawn to speak of. What was left of the grass was littered with summer daisies. It was patchy to say the least. Amelia got up from the wooden step. She started towards the front porch when she heard her mother call.

"Amelia! Dinner's ready, come and eat with us!" Amelia instantly turned towards the kitchen and walked in. Her father was sitting in the chair he always sat in. Furthest away from the door. Amelia's mother was still sorting out the lamb. Amelia sat in the chair next to her father and kicked her feet. Her mother sat down after placing the food on the table.

"Honey, this food looks amazing." Her mother smiled.

"Thanks. We haven't had much meat recently, so I hope it's great." She looked at the food in front of her and smiled. "We should say grace." The family nodded.

"For what we are about to receive, we are grateful. Guide us through this rough time. Please keep us safe. Through Christ we pray. Amen." Amelia never took much notice of the prayers her mother said before food. They didn't matter that much to her. But she couldn't help but pick up on the fact that her mother never usually asked to keep them safe. She didn't understand that part at all.

* * *

After dinner her mother made Amelia take a bath. It took a lot of persuading. Amelia didn't want to wash the dust off. She'd just get dirty another day. Tomorrow, even. In Amelia's eyes there was no point in bathing if you were going to get up the next day and get dirty again. Tomorrow was Sunday, anyway. But Amelia's mother insisted that she had a bath. Amelia's father agreed. Amelia complained for as long as she could. She eventually agreed to do it if her dad was the one in the bathroom with her. Amelia knew it was wrong to have a favorite parent. She loved her mom for sure. She just didn't understand why she was constantly nagged and told off. She could tell it wasn't something parent's _had_ to do, because her dad never nagged her. Well, he did a bit. But her father was on her side for most things. He'd stick up for Amelia when she skipped school. He thought that Amelia didn't conform because of her creativity; not because she was a bad girl. He'd let Amelia off if she came back to the house past her curfew. He always had a smile on his face and he was always kind. So Amelia gave in when he asked her to take a bath. Her mother sighed. Amelia knew it was wrong to have favorites. She felt bad sometimes.

* * *

"Dad, do you think I'll ever get a boyfriend?" Her father laughed at the question. He shook his head and continued to wash Amelia's hair. The soap smelt strong and clean. "Because if I don't get a boyfriend, what hope have I got in finding a husband?" Her father simply continued smiling, holding back a laugh.

"Amelia, do you think that it's important to have a husband?" He asked after recovering.

Amelia nodded. She needed to complete her list for an easy life. And a husband was one of the key points. "If I can't get a husband, can I marry you?" Her father was really kind, after all. She knew he was handsome, too. One time she had asked her mother what women looked for in men. Her mother had replied with something like, 'He has to be handsome, and kind. He has to treat you well.' Amelia's father covered all the criteria.

"No way in hell!" He replied. Amelia frowned.

"Why not?"

"You can't marry your own dad, that's against the rules of marriage!"

"Oh... OK." She didn't quite get it. But she was willing to believe whatever her dad said on the issue. She didn't really want to break the rules of marriage, it sounded dangerous.

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Amelia ended up in school the next day. The bath had left her clean and she was actually glad about it. Her dad told her to look for boys in school she wanted to marry, instead of people in her family. Amelia wasn't sure any of the boys in her class would treat her particularly well, and none of them were at all handsome. Amelia didn't really like school much. She was constantly skipping classes and she felt it was no wonder, considering the teachers. The woman that took Amelia's class was fat, scary and angry. She was called Mrs. Johnson. She had a reputation of starting fights with students. Amelia was no exception. Her eyes were filled with pure evil, in Amelia's view. She gave detentions out as if they were nothing. She made students write hundreds of lines for the smallest of offenses. Amelia didn't like her. Mrs. Johnson hated the students. The students hated her.

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Amelia got into trouble. Of course. She threw a pencil at Mrs. Johnson's head. The class thought it was hilarious. For a brief moment Amelia felt powerful. It must have been one of the most ecstatic moments of her school career. The last time Amelia had felt this powerful was weeks ago. She'd climbed the tallest tree in the school yard. It was a fir tree. The branches of the tree acted like steps of a ladder and she ascended gracefully to the top. She poked her head out. She was on top of the world. Amelia loved being the center of attention and there was no denying it. She was popular now, but school kids have a habit of being easily influenced. This time, however, the teacher saw her do it. Amelia suddenly felt ill. She knew what was coming. She didn't like it. Her mother would be so angry, her dad would probably shake his head. Amelia hated how he never looked angry at her. Just disappointed. It made the whole incident feel worse. It made Amelia feel _bad_ for doing something fun. Amelia's mother would probably shout. They'd tell her off for misbehaving. Amelia knew she misbehaved, really. She just didn't care until after it was done. How could she prove that she genuinely felt bad? It wasn't fair.

Mrs. Johnson turned to the class and bellowed, "Amelia Jones! I saw that!" The class fell silent. Amelia was scared. She knew that the teacher was going to whack her. She could just imagine the woman walking towards her with the shoe in her hand. It wasn't a nice thought. The shoe would hurt her hand a lot. All the boys would cheer her on though. It'd be OK. Mrs. Johnson was now walking towards Amelia with the shoe in her hand. She grabbed Amelia by the wrist and pulled her to the front of the classroom. The classroom was dusty and cold. The floor was wooden and creaky. The chalkboard covered the whole of the front wall. Everything seemed to go quiet. Amelia could hear chairs and desks squeaking on the floor. The silence was uncomfortable. The old teacher looked at Amelia for a brief moment before slapping the shoe down on the back of her hand. Amelia let out a squeak and cried a bit. The boy's didn't cheer her on. They looked scared and annoyed.

* * *

In the school yard, three boys that Amelia knew walked up to her. One of them was short, with blonde hair and a scowl. One of them had dark, curly hair. He looked a bit friendlier than the others. The last boy was very tall. He had dusty, ripped pants and an angry face.

"Well done for getting caught" The angry one said. He walked closer to Amelia and then he punched her. He hit her in the stomach. At first Amelia fell to the floor. She immediately got up. She punched him back. Hard. The boy held his nose. It was bleeding. He didn't say another word to Amelia, but he got up and turned around. He ran back to the school house. Why had he hit her? What had made the boy change his mind? In class he thought it was hilarious. It worried Amelia that she didn't understand other people. She found a corner in the school yard. Gravel and stones. She sat on the gravel and pulled her knees to her chest. At least she was strong. The boys didn't hurt her.

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_To be continued..._


	2. Chapter 2: A Pessimistic British Girl

**A/N: Chapter two! Pretty much just another introduction, sorry about that. I'm going to launch into the story a bit more with the next chapters. You may have noticed that the story is going to be split perspective, I hope you like it! **

**In a week I'm going on holiday for 5 days so my next update'll be a little behind schedule (sorry). **

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**Chapter two: A Pessimistic British Girl.**

Alice was a good girl. She excelled in school. She particularly liked history and English. History was easy, she thought. All you had to learn was dates and names. There were no methods like maths. There was no confusion. Only straightforward right or wrong and the occasional 'What do _you_ think?' question. Easy. She loved learning about ancient cultures especially. Ancient Egypt, Greece. Pre-societal cultures with different rules and strange names. In Ancient Egypt, you could marry your own family. Ancient Greece is where the alphabet came from; Alpha, Beta. It was facts like this that kept Alice upbeat and entertained. It was facts like this that meant Alice wasn't popular. Another part of history that Alice found endlessly fascinating was more modern stuff. The Tudors, Elizabethans. How women used to wear poisonous make-up and large wigs. Foreign countries, strange leaders. And English; British literature, Shakespeare, plays. She loved it. The idea of people telling stories. The books she read. She could imagine anything as long as someone had written it in a novel. Pages and paper didn't lie. They wrote fiction. Alice was ten years old; she was the teacher's favourite.

The teacher was called Mrs. Cullen. She had a wrinkly face and grey hair. She was kind to Alice. She let Alice borrow books and always smiled. It suited her. While she was old, she was pretty. She had a friendly face and welcoming, brown eyes. Her hair was short. Curly. She had two small pearl earrings. She wasn't strict at all, she felt bad for hitting the kids. So she never did it. Mrs. Cullen stuck up for Alice. Alice needed it. She'd quite like to be a teacher, she thought. She could finally put her flair for academic subjects to use. She'd never be a mathematics teacher, though. Maths was hard; it made no sense. Words were set in stone. They didn't change. Maths changed. There were different methods to reach the same conclusions. As soon as Alice learned one thing her mind went blank and she forgot again. But a teacher. She didn't have to be good at maths, she didn't think. She could just teach English and history and poetry. Alice wouldn't hit students either. She didn't think it did any good. If anything, it just scared them. Although the boys and girls in her class... Some of them were so mean that Alice wouldn't have had much of an issue with ta teacher hitting them. They weren't scared. They were scary.

Alice was happy in life, but pessimistic. She didn't anticipate good things. How did one grow up well? Her mother was so sad all the time. Growing up looked hard. While she had dreams of careers and relationships she knew it would be hard to achieve. People didn't just bump into the loves of their lives and set up family in the street. Where would Alice even find a family? Her mother was partly to blame for Alice's state of mind. She was also pessimistic, but cold rather than happy. She hadn't been happy for a long time. Another thing that worried Alice was school. How would she get through her education with such a basic understanding of mathematics? While she was only ten, she was mature. She could see that life wasn't easy to breeze through. Some people got sad like her mother and some people got angry like her dad.

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Alice had a cat. He was a large cat with grey fur. He was quite old and his body was lined with stripes. Under his chin he had a tuft of white hair. It reminded Alice of an old man. He had a loud, angry meow. He was as grumpy and rainy as Alice's family, but deep down as soft and cuddly as a kitten. He purred very occasionally and asked for food too often. His face was about as angry as a cat's face could be. He liked Alice. Alice liked him. His name was Squeak and he still tried to hunt mice, even in his old age. Alice looked up to him, in a strange way. He was grumpy, but he got on with things. He kind of represented Alice's views on life: It wasn't great, but you had to get up and keep catching mice, even in old age. She told Squeak her secrets when she couldn't tell anyone else. As a child, Alice's secrets weren't too extreme. She told Squeak about who she liked in school. She couldn't tell any _person._ They'd just laugh before she'd finished and that wasn't fair. She told Squeak about her aspirations and her worries. In return, she comforted him. She told him it was OK to be sad sometimes. Everyone had the right to be sad. Alice knew this too well. She sometimes wished that her mother would use her right to be _happy_ for once. To stop abusing the right to be sad. Alice didn't really understand. She didn't think it was fair at all.

Squeak once had a brother. His name was Bubble. He had long black fur. He was cuddly and friendly where Squeak was not. He never caught mice. He ate too much food and slept for too many hours. One day, he stopped eating too much food and started eating too little. He grew weak. Alice was six years old when Bubble died. Bubble and Squeak. They were close. As close as cats could be. Bubble was fifteen when he died; an old age for a cat. Alice wasn't terribly heartbroken over the death of Bubble. While she did care, the cat was old. On it's last legs. She didn't cry when she found out. In all honesty she'd been expecting it for months. She wasn't happy he'd died, but she wasn't too sad.

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They bullied Alice in school, there was no way to put it nicely. Boys and girls threw boiled sweets and rocks at her. They laughed at her in the school yard. They seemed to enjoy Alice's pain. She didn't like to tell anyone, though. She kept it to herself and sat indoors at lunch and break, hoping to avoid her cruel peers. She headed back to her safe place in the corner of the classroom after receiving her school dinner. It was raining. The rain was heavy and it hit the window with quite a force. She could see splashes outside, small ripples in the forming puddles. Alice enjoyed the rain. She didn't view it as a bad thing, it felt refreshing. She quite enjoyed watching her bullies get soaked outside the classroom. They'd come back drenching. Uncomfortable. The dinner Alice was eating was lukewarm and unpleasant. It was like gruel, she thought. Not terribly appealing. She got up from the wooden desk she was sitting at. The chair scratched against the splintery floorboards. She looked out of the window. The glass was uneven, cold and thin. Outside she could see a group of boys playing football and a couple of girls practising handstands. They weren't bad. The ground was puddly, now. The rectangular paving slabs were old and misshapen and rain was collecting in the gaps between them. The whole view out of the classroom window was brown and grey and bleak. Alice didn't mind. Her life was rather grey and bleak.

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Alice's London house was small and terraced. The front door was deep green, and there was a tree in the front garden before the brick wall that separated street from property. There were two bedrooms. One for Alice's parents and one for Alice. There was a small bathroom and a kitchen downstairs. There was a cold cellar that Alice's father used to store ale and wine. Whenever the door of the cellar was opened, the familiar smell of dust and alcohol hit whoever was opening it. Alice was completely convinced the cellar was haunted, and she certainly didn't like going down there with a small lantern in the middle of the night. The floor was cold and made of splintery old floorboards. The house was generally cold.

Alice's home life wasn't bad. No one hit her much, she got fed, she got a bed to sleep in. It just wasn't the happiest household. They got on with what they needed to do, they sat in front of the fire each night, they loved each other. It was just that Alice's mum wasn't as lively as she used to be. She avoided playing with Alice, when she used to love it. Now it was just too much of an effort. She'd just slowed down a lot. And Alice's dad got angry quickly. He got angry that Alice's mum wasn't helping enough, that she forgot to make dinner, or clean the house. He got angry at Alice for being too quiet and reserved. He wasn't so bad it would be abusive, he was just very strict. He liked things in order and he got easily annoyed if they were not. But generally they were a functioning family. Not the happiest or most optimistic, but they functioned.

Her parents found out about the bullying. At first Alice thought it would be good, that hey might be able to make it stop. The problem is that they didn't really care. It didn't bother Alice as much as it probably should have. Or rather, it did bother her, but she was used to it. Her parents had lives, she supposed. They didn't have time to worry if a couple of kids at school were throwing rocks at Alice. It clearly wasn't the main concern. Alice's mother was concerned about grown up things, like paying bills and making dinner and getting up in the morning. Alice's dad had to go to work and make money for the family. They had other issues. Alice still would have appreciated some comfort. But it was OK.

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_To be continued..._


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